Acquired: Other (stray, given dog by friend etc.)
Posted March 11, 2015
A several-months-old bundle of yellow joy wiggled his way through the gate at our driveway and bounded up to my wife.
He jumped up on her with cute, oversized paws, wagging his tail as if to say, "I'm home! Where's dinner?"
I promptly named him, Buddy. He grew to be a handsome specimen of a yellow lab, lean and muscular.
Buddy would rather fetch than eat.
As soon as we arrived home, while we were still getting out of the truck, he'd race to find a toy to drop at our feet. He'd sit expectantly, muscles taut, waiting for the throw. Then he was off like a determined linebacker, snatching the object from the turf. The grass flew from his paw "cleats" as he churned the turf. He'd turn on a dime, and like an oncoming yellow train, head straight towards us, sliding to a stop, drop the slobbery toy at our feet, waiting and panting expectantly.
He had no time for girly things like being pet or groomed.
One day, my wife, JoAnn, decided to surprise me by upgrading our underground wire fence. She, apparently, didn't get it set right.
Buddy, always willing to push the envelope, was drawn to the road into the path of a vehicle.
We had no choice but to ask the vet put him down.
JoAnn pointed out afterward that the first time Buddy remained still long enough to receive a long hug were in those last moments on the table at the vets.
Buddy loved life and was full of it until the last drop was exhausted.
Nothing made him happier than diving into our five-acre pond at full tilt and swimming back with a tennis ball.
He'd shake himself off, drop the ball, wagging his sleek, stocky tail as if to say, "Is that as far as you can throw it?"
Dang, I miss that dog.